


cold as ice

by arsenouselation



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Gruesome Ancient Customs, Historical References, Slightly Horrific
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 20:57:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsenouselation/pseuds/arsenouselation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her image burned gossamer embroideries on his mind - and his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cold as ice

**Author's Note:**

> Republished from an [old account](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2053989/o-p-i-u-m-c-a-t-h-a-r-s-i-s)

  
_"Her image burned gossamer embroideries on his mind - and his_ heart." _  
_  


* * *

**.**

They had been acquaintances during the fresh-blood years. She was a human and he, a formed soul.

She loved to speak (in tongues) and to dance (step-tap- _t_ _ip_ -hop) by the park. Her feet were happy; uncontainable, and so was her tongue. There was spring in her step, an orchestra behind her throat, and the sun in her eyes (blabbering and floating here and there).

Hanatarou's stomach curled, unwounded, and _fluttered._ It was she who taught him beau idéal.

And being born in an illustrious clan, the _nobles_ simply cannot accept. She wandered too much and was too coarse-blooded for a noblewoman.

(She was sent away for decades to who-knows-where)

.

And this was how she taught him fear:

Hanatarou ran as fast as he could as soon as he heard. After almost an endless string of eternities, she was  _home._ He ran and ran, flowers in hand, eager and meager to meet her in her abode—proprieties be damned.

But…

Something was indelibly wrong. When he saw her… there was neither happiness nor any form of elation.

She was sitting in the midst of all the silken embellishments and golden ornaments. More beautiful than the last time he saw her. She smiled and beckoned him closer.

Hanatarou hesitated before stepping forward and stopping once more. Then what he saw made his veins rupture in unfathomable fear. There, perched on the small ottoman, were her silk-clad feet—

Smaller and bulkier than how he remembered them.

 _They were broken and tied up, as our custom dictates,_ she smiled as if proud of her little lotus feet. _After all, smaller means prettier, right?_

_._

Disgust crawled up his spine and he felt like vomiting.  _Humans were always so_  grotesque.

Hanatarou stared, and stared,  _and stared still_. Her image burned gossamer embroideries on his mind (and his heart, too).


End file.
